The NecRomantics - Episode for 29/09/2006

*Shudder*

I saw an ad for the Tickle Me Elmo TMX today. (The "X" is for "EXTREME")

Only I read it: "Tickle me Emo".

A quick search revealed that I'm not the first one to make this particular brilliant humourous connection. It's not a very funny link, but then again, it's Emo. If you're not sure what Emo is, I think this sums it up best.

I'm still in awe of the sheer evil that is the Tyco marketing department when it comes to this product. It's basically the same toy that goes through a preset number of motions when you tickle it.

The difference being that instead of just putting in the same kind of motor that makes a cellphone vibrate to simulate the tickling, they added some structure to the insides so that it could slap its leg while laughing, fall to the floor laughing, kick its heels against the ground while laughing, flip over onto its face laughing, pound its fist on the ground because it's laughing so hard, and then eventually pull itself up to a standing position, wheezing and begging you to stop.

Maybe I'm being too cynical, you be the judge.

Elmo was the last nail in the Sesame Street coffin for me. I wish I could blame it on Jim Henson's death, but Elmo's been around on and off since the 70's. I can blame it on Kevin Clash who has been the current voice of Elmo since 1984.

That's a damn long time to be speaking in a grating high-pitched third-person saccharine whine.

I can't believe that Jim Henson thought this was a good idea. It places my fanatical and childlike belief in his infallibility into question.

See, when the creator dies, you can at least blame the committee or department that takes over. You know where I'm going with this if you've looked at the science fiction industry since Gene Roddenberry died. Once his creative department finished going through his desk, we got Sexually Ambiguous Alien Space Friends. Once they finished going through his wastepaper basket, we got Hercules In Space and then they decided to throw continuity straight to heck and we got a healthy dose of Quantum Trek. There must have been a gravy stain on the part of the napkin where Gene had written "no time travel wars".

Yeah. Oh Boy. After that series did you notice we didn't have anything new happening? It's because they've run out of places to look for Gene's napkin scribbles for not-quite-fleshed-out concepts.

Thank goodness for series like the new Battlestar Galactica. They've got a good thing going, and it's not science-fiction so much as gritty military-sociopolitical drama. With Robots. In Space.

The NecRomantics - Episode for 27/09/2006

Health Canada decided about six years ago that anyone who has spent more than 3 months in France or six months anywhere in Western Europe, from about 1986 onwards, is at risk of being a mad cow disease carrier and is therefore ineligible to give blood.

This, of course, got pointed out to me when I tried to do my civic duty a couple of days ago and give blood.

So. Mad cows at it again. This time, it's personal.

And there's currently no test to tell for sure, so the medical community has spawned a theory that the Creutzfeldt-Jacob Disease new variant has some idiotically long incubation period like 30-50 years because a cannibal tribe in Papua New Guinea appears to be having an epidemic , and the scientific community have linked this to their brain-eating habits, which were discontinued in the 1950's (Way to wreck it for the rest of us... you brain-munching cannibals).

It gets better. The theory is based on the fact that this is an epidemic of a disease called "kuru", which is "similar" to CJD.

I think the medical community has some work to do before I'm sold on the upcoming mad cow epidemic of 2020. Maybe a documentary seminar based on the movie 28 Days Later...

New feed...

I have a new feedburner feed.

See the lovely orange RSS button at the top left hand side of the Blogspot CrunchyMilk page?

It links to feed://feeds.feedburner.com/CrunchyMilk.

Please click it and make that your new feed for the site. This is meant to accomplish two things:

1. Occasional commentary that the Beta Blogger Atom feed doesn't work for various browsers.
2. The feeding of the frenzied and pathetic need my ego has for self-validation through even the most meager of statistics.

The NecRomantics - Episode for 25/09/2006

I'm convinced that the reason most beggars aren't more entertaining is that they're really undercover sociologists.

Think about it, they're probably judging your reactions and noting them down via bluetooth recorder. You can't tell, after all it looks like they're just madmen in the street talking to themselves. In reality, they're muttering "Subject #347523, Thursday, gave me $5, confirming alpha paycheck-generosity correlation hypothesis to within 0.05%, 19 times out of 20."

The real professional beggars out there are cheerful, brash, entertaining, imaginative, inventive (while being no less smelly or filthy looking because they have an image to maintain) and know EXACTLY what they're doing. They realize they've tapped into a Jungian gold mine.

These clever entrepreneurs manage to make more money every hour of the day than the average electrical engineer, all because they know that some people have troubled social consciences. Those people think they passing the geld along to someone down on their luck will alleviate some of the guilt so they can go home to their HDTV and watch satellite EuroPorn without feeling guilty.

Don't worry too much about the professionals; they collect welfare and go home to watch their own satellite EuroPorn. The reason sociologists are such unpleasant beggars is because they don't get enough grant money to afford satellite EuroPorn.

Fortunately for me, I had all the guilt receptors in my social conscience surgically removed years ago, but remember folks, if you give to one of those unfortunate "street sociologists", please remember to ask them to forward you a copy of their dissertation and to request an update on their results to date. You may learn something and it might even validate their meager and unfortunate existence.

Just don't mention EuroPorn, that'd be like kicking someone when they're down and it just isn't nice.

The NecRomantics - Episode for 22/09/2006 (yes, it's early)

I'm posting this up tonight, because tomorrow is my final exam for a crazy two-credit accelerated Introduction to Law class. I've just finished digesting a week-long class that consisted of 30 hours of lecture time, 300 pages of cases and doctrine, and nearly 40 pages of single-space typewritten notes into three pages of Things I Need to Figure Out By 1pm Friday.

Today's strip completes yesterday's to some extent, possibly making the pair funny if you read them together. I was experimenting with smaller strips as a lazy man's way of making sure I got something out, but I'm not certain I like the scripting since it's not a typical 3-panel gag. Something in my backbrain seems to want to tell an extended story, which means I may need to get back to a full-page layout after all, which means more setup time because it means more shots, and I'm starting to get frustrated at my old Canon Elph 2.0 megapixel camera.

Even with a tripod, zoom and macro in various combinations I still get lots of blur and too much reflected glare from the caracters and wind up discarding some really nice shots and having to reshoot them.

It's all part of the learning process, I suppose, and at least I don't have to tell my subjects to sit still and stop fidgeting. I mean, I do tell them but I don't think they listen (no ears... I just noticed that too...). Offhand, I think I would be miserable as photographer or a hairdresserif I had the misfortune to specialize with small children as my customers.

Unless of course I billed myself as an "artiste" and got away with making a "statement" out of the blurred photos and mangled bowl cuts...

The NecRomantics - Episode for 20/09/2006

Do you remember your first favorite childhood toy?

That little stuffed something or other that was your constant companion? I imagine that for most people it's teddy bears, although these days there's such a staggering variety of stuffed animals out there that it could be almost anything.

Mine was a stuffed lamb with a wind-up music box inside it. Apparently I was a harsh music critic as a child because I took every opportunity to playfully beat the living daylights out of my lamb against any available hard surface when the music was playing, so the mechanism very shortly stopped playing, after which my toy and I were inseparable.

And boy did I knock the stuffing out of that thing. Repeatedly. I loved it to death and carried it everywhere on every trip as a little kid.

Funny thing though...

I remember being told that the music box had been removed at some point, which didn't make an impact on me at the time, but it did mean that somewhere along the line surgery had taken place. Presumably someone with a good eye and tolerable sewing skills made sure that I never noticed the stiches.

Not that scars mattered much to my lamb. I remember now that the outer skin was getting pretty thin and not so soft at one point, so one of the handy ladies in my family went out, bought some fabric in the same basic colour...and maybe a bit softer and fuzzier, cut a pattern and gave my lamb a new brand new skin, and I remember being very happy for it...

And we'd sewn on a new mouth with red string because the old one had been printed onto the material and had worn off...

And of course the stuffing started getting pretty squished, so one year we 'operated' on it, took the old stuffing out and put the new stuffing in (I seem to recall that the new material was rolled up beige nylons, isn't that strange?) and made it huggable again...

Then the eyes eventually came loose and we made new ones and sewed them on, and even made them out of a beautiful blue-black velvety material.

We had the technlogy. We could make him better, faster, more...huggable.

It appears that in retrospect my favorite childhood toy went through the human equivalent of a complete plastic-surgery makeover, complete with facelift, liposuction, tattooed on makeup, and laser eye surgery among other things.

But don't worry, it's still the same doll inside... I mean, it isn't... not really... not inside itself, since it's now stuffed chock-a-block with girly socks (and yes, I'm fairly certain my mom washed the nylons beforehand, because my lamb never smelled of feet). And, if you think about it for a second, there's not a single original part of that lamb left, inside or out.

But inside me it was (and still is) the same doll. And isn't that where it counts? I'd like to think so.

The NecRomantics - Episode for 18/09/2006

Hi folks!

In a lighter and less "potty-humour-oriented" vein, today I would like to introduce you to the first strip in the second element of our PLAYMOBIL® universe, "The NecRomantics", in which we discover that raising the living is a lot harder than raising the dead.

It's all so problematic... being an evil necromancer bent on destroying the kingdom and eventually reworking the world in your own dreadful image... and having to cope with all sorts of interruptions like a loving family, circle of friends, social occasions, PTA (Peasant/Tyrant Association) meetings, neighbours and employees (well, do-gooder boyscout apprentices, anyway).

And this isn't autobiographical in any way at all of course. Nope-nope-nope, not at all...

Here at Crunchy Milk, we wouldn't dare poke fun at family values, especially our own. Especially not with my dear, sweet, loving wife reading this comic within easy reaching distance of a genuine, 25-pound, red-bladed 1930's style fireman's axe and my 21 month old daughter busily and precociously learning how to fireball me repeatedly with her cinnamon-stick wand.

Baron and Peedles: Episode #4 - Part 8 (Conclusion)

So it occurs to me on the..um...tail of the last posting that there is one person who has a nose in this entire debacle, and he's not complaining (which in itself is odd, given the nature of his real-life counterpart, who is very vocal on the same topic).

So I'm with the hapless apprentice on this one. No nose means good news.

For those of you who don't know what Bangalore Phal (panel 6) is, please do give it a try if you like Indian food. It's a delightfully mild and pleasant dish, yum-yum-yum, shovel it down by the forkful, you'll never eat enough. There's beef, lamb, and vegetable versions which are guaranteed please even the discerning and epicurean gastronome. Order it with your favorite perfumed rice dish and let your nostrils take you on a journ...

...

Ok. Fine, I may be underselling this dish slightly. When I use the term "mild", I'm using it from the perspective of a PLAYMOBIL® figurine, whose taste buds are made of space-age nonreactive polymer.

Bangalore is mild in the same way that one says "flaying is a mild skin irritant" or that "Joseph Carey Merrick had a mild skin condition".

"Oh that... he probably contracted it after eating Bangalore..."

This flavourful dish will induce near-toxic levels of profuse sweating and may induce hysterical giggling in the unprepared. Bring a towel and be prepared to burn it when you're finished wiping down. And stand upwind, for pity's sake.

"What's that Mango Lassie? Timmy fell down the Tandoori oven?"

Mango Lassie is the only one who can save you. You will come to understand this when you hear the tortured cries of your neighbours: "The raita... it does NOTHING...why does it HURT?"

This food comes with its own disclaimer and federal investigation procedure. I order it locally and get put through a third degree interrogation:

"...and one order of Beef Bangalore Phal, please."
"It's very hot, sir"
"Yes, I know"
"It's veryvery hot." (subtext: "and you sound veryvery white..."
"Yes, I still want to eat it."
"Have you ordered it before?"
"Yes."
"Have you ordered it from HERE before?"
"YES, already."
(resigned sigh) "verygood sir, one order of Beef Bangalore..."

Bangalore, incidentally, is the delightful little culinary tastebud tickler that started my wife's contractions when nothing else would.

It's that powerful. Do not ignore the power of its uterus-bursting magic. Yes, now you too must live with that haunting image.

John Hurt ate Bangalore just the once, but he desn't have a uterus, and look where it got him.

This is starting to sound too much like a chain letter. If you mail this out to ten of your closest suicide-wing-fan friends, at least do me the favour of inviting them all out to take the Bangalore Challenge.

10 people, 10 dollars, 10 minutes for one lucky guy to eat the entire Bowl of Bangalore.

- No liquids and no consuming anything that is non-bangalore until you're done, challenger.
- Regular, consistent bites. Up utensil, down utensil. Chew, chew, chew.
- No tricky swallowing without tasting, allowed. Enjoy the flavour.
- No pausing, just keep eating. No stopping for even a few seconds to catch your breath.
- Yum-yum-yum, shovel it down by the forkful.

It's that simple.

Because the only way to cure the dreadful heat of Bangalore is (you guessed it) more Bangalore...

Bring a video camera. Send me a film of the happy event.

So see you next week for the first installment of a new arc, and on September 21st, next Thursday, to celebrate the end of summer, take some friends out for the first day of Phal...

Baron and Peedles: Episode #4 - Part 7

I've always been a fan of self-referential humour, especially in comic books. In theatre it has the naturally more effete title of "breaking the fourth wall", a concept which our man Shakespeare used and overused by having characters make situational/editorial remarks to the audience.

You see it in television semi-regularly, but overuse can lead to silliness, so most do not opt in on this concept more than occasionally to avoid losing either credibility or viewership.

Here at Crunchy Milk, we have no such limitations (in part because we have neither viewership nor credibility to lose).

"Muhahaha" and other evil-type laughters. Freedom! Freedom!

See you on Friday for part 8 of 8, folks!

Baron and Peedles: Episode #4 - Part 6

Greetings and Salutations, to my six loyal readers, and thanks for not giving up hope on the Baron and his Tardis-like felinoid, whose insides are verily (yea!) much larger than his outsides as we have found.

As the first week of Law School comes to a complete screeching halt, I find that I can in fact do some work on the comic on the weekends. Wish me good fortune and I will make every attempt to build up a suitably large pile of strips so that I can update with regularity. For now, I can promise at least one update a week (and here is this week's installment above!) and as soon as I can, I will add more strips and try to tone it down to something more easily...um...digestible in a one-shot format rather than the inadvertent epic 8-parter through which I am currently making you slog.

On the topic of epic series, I would like to point your attention to another fine comic that uses photography and toys (although this comic uses Lego and the author's writing is a good deal more...um... lively than my own at present). Reading through it gives me some idea of the linguistic limits involved, and since Lego hasn't shut it down (no little plastic Lego lawyers to serve papers?) it's helping me rethink my own currently timid approach to B&P's scripting.

Oh, we're not going straight into filth and obscenity yet, folks, but stay tuned and I hope you'll find things interesting even if this kind of comic isn't your bag of poop...